In The Air Tonight
by Hardly Here
Summary: When I was seven years old, I watched my best friend drown." Request for xxAreeshaxx
1. Chapter 1

_***The speaker is CM Punk.***_

**Request for xxAreeshaxx. I wrote this in Hong Kong while I was really angry and upset (she knows why XD). I was listening to **_**in the air tonight**_** by Phil Collins, and a silent hotel room in the dead of night really gave the song a different quality. It's also a very angry song. So this came out ^_^ I hope you enjoy.  
Twoshot.**

**DO NOT OWN.**

*******

_Well if you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand.  
I've seen your face before, my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am  
But I was there and I saw what you did,  
I saw it with my own two eyes.  
So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been,  
It's all been a pack of lies._

_***_

When I was seven years old, I watched my best friend drown. We were on a camping trip – he and our parents. Family friends. The kind where the mothers, the fathers and the sons all pair off perfectly and become mates for life. That was like us. Roger and I were inseperable. Years later, when Dad's alcohol problem got worse and I ran off, my first thought was to get to his house, before I realised he was dead. That's how close we were.

I remember, his dad had been trying to teach us to swim (I say trying because to this day I won't go near deep water) and one night, Roger decided he could go do it on your own.

People don't realise just how strong the current down the middle of a river can be. You're wading out, getting the feel of the water, starting to brace yourself against the slight push and then whoosh. The current sweeps you up off your feet and chews you up for a while, then spits you out into a rocky outcrop, or sticks you into a tangle of dead branches, and by then you're just as lifeless as the wood, and your skin turns all pale and bluish and... you get the picture.

I scare myself sometimes at how vividly I remember the day.

Roger tired fast – Christ, we were only seven. I ran along the bank, looking for a branch or a rope or _something_ to pull him back with. And all the time he was screaming my name. Most kids howl for their mothers, but he was calling for me. I followed him through the undergrowth long after he had stopped screaming, even when his body had become a limp, floating mass. I couldn't tear myself away from him. When he finally got caught in some dead branches, I realised I was exhausted, and lost. And alone.

I didn't cry then. I didn't cry at his funeral. I guess I've been saving it up, because I'm crying now. It's all his fault. The man. I don't even know what his name is, but when I finally tore my eyes away from the dead corpse of my best friend, I saw him.

At shows, I occasionally catch a glimpse of his face, but then he's gone. Some nights I dream about him and wake up to find I'm screaming, and Randy has to come and hold me until I can control myself again. Randy. He's so good to me – too good. It frightens me that one day he'll realise this and leave. That would be the end of me, because he's the only one who's stopping me from going completely mad.

You see, when I looked up, The Man was just standing there, watching me. A few minutes ago, he had been watching _us_, but now he was just watching me. I could tell he had been there all along. He had watched my best friend drown, with a smirk on his lips and laughter in his eyes. It still makes me sick when I think about it too much. I can feel the cold night air, and those icy tendrils of fear that crept into me, making me sick to my stomach. He had watched us like we were some sort of entertainment while Roger had died, my best friend had _died, _drowned in the river, and those wild eyes locked onto mine, those eyes which mocked me with their merry laughter. A part of me knows that somewhere out there, he's still waiting, and one day I will see those eyes again.

He's here tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well I remember.  
I remember, don't worry.  
How could I ever forget, it was the first time.  
The last time  
We ever met.  
But I know the reason why you kept your silence up_

_Oh no you don't fool me  
Well the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows  
it's no stranger to you and me._

***

Did you ever see that Coldplay video clip? The one where the lead singer goes through a car crash backwards. I think I know how his character must've felt, because I'm lying here in a vacant lot, on a damp old mattress someone's dumped, and I can't quite remember how I got here. I must've walked for ages, though – the sun's starting to come up. Don't remember a lot past when I walked out. I'm a bit hungry. Dead tired.

I wish Randy was here with me. The more I think about him, the more I cry. He's always talking care of me, and that scares me because one day, he'll expect me to do the same for him, and I won't be able to. Hell, I couldn't even save my own best friend.

That's why the storyline's really getting to me, as well. They want me to strut around the ring telling people I can save them. Me. The crowd hates me, though, and I guess that's my punishment.

The people that I volunteer to 'save' come to hate me, too. Once their five minutes is over, they come to regret the decision they've made, and they want their beautiful hair back. Well, I want Roger back, but that's not going to happen.

Tonight's 'convert' was supposed to be another girl. She had beautiful brown ringlets, the kind that glimmers gold when the light hits it just right. But when I called for a volunteer, it was him that climbed calmly over the barrier, of his own accord. I should have done something about it, ad libbed, told him he was unworthy and look for the right person. Could've, should've, would've. Doesn't make a difference now.

I told Luke to go with it. I'm not sure what came over me – panic makes you make strange decisions. He, on the other hand, seemed totally sure of what he was doing. His eyes never left mine the whole time he made his way into the ring. And those eyes – oh god, those eyes – they brought that horrid scene crashing back into my mind's eye, and I just froze up. I started seeing Roger's face everywhere, all the children who were screaming at the superstar they love to hate suddenly became my lost friend crying out why – why did you leave me? Why aren't you strong enough?

The Man could tell exactly what was going on in my head; his expression was confirmation of that. It's not that hard to believe, not when over twenty years have passed and his hair is still black as coal, his face still smooth as porcelain. I swear he was wearing the same suit, too.

Then the realisation came – it was like looking in a mirror. I'd kept a part of him mentally all these years, but also physically. It disgusted me that I'd done such a thing, be it a subconscious decision or not. The hair would have to go, and so I handed him the shaver.

I felt rather than heard the crowd go silent, and then all that was left was the eerie buzzing of that electric razor. Well, that's how I remember it. I'm sure Luke was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear him. The Man hummed slightly as he finished off him work, then swiped the microphone from my hand. He spoke, and I nearly fell off the seat in shock. He had such a cold, cultured air about him, I was expecting articulate, eloquent comments... about what, I had no idea, but I was expecting more than what he said.

_Go die in a hole, bitch._

It was a filthy, guttural voice; and it frightened the hell out of me. Whispers threaded through the audience, and The Man threw the microphone in my face. That's when something cracked, and I found myself driving my boot into his face. That was the hardest part – getting started – after that, it kind of got easier, until I was dragging his limp form up the ramp. I slung him over my shoulder, and ran out. I'm surprised no-one stopped me, but then again, everyone seemed to have been in a state of shock. Perhaps it would have been better if someone _had_ stopped me. Then I wouldn't be here.

I can't remember when I dropped Him, but his dead weight was crushing, so I guess it must have been near, or maybe even in the stadium. Huh.

What was that thing V said to Evee when she finally came out into the rain? She was battered and worn, she had lost her hair, but gained a new kind of freedom. I think it was something along the lines of how this night was now hers. I wish I could feel as glorious like that, instead of empty, cold and miserable.

I wish Randy was here with me. Did I already say that? Don't remember. Too tired. But anyway, I do. He's warm, and comforting. I can hide in him.

God, I'm so tired I think I'm starting to hallucinate, because that's the only way I could explain this. It looks like Randy who's making his way over to me, but that's impossible. Apart from the fact that I'm positive no-one knows where I am, there is no way he would want to even come near me after that psycho shit I just pulled. The rain's pelting harder, and I guess that must be why everything's starting to get blurry. That doesn't explain why my vision's getting dark at the edges, though. Oh shit, I think I can hear voices... they're calling my name...


	3. Chapter 3

I love Phil. To be brutally honest, a few months ago I couldn't have said that, despite the fact that we've been a 'couple' for almost a year now. He was such a fragile, insecure little creature; I just felt like I needed to be protecting him. One thing led to another, and we ended up together. It made me feel like a stronger person while I was helping him, so really in a way, I was using him. I feel disgusted at myself during that time and I'm not proud of what I did, but I am proud of where it brought us.

There's always been something mysterious about Phil. Sometimes he gets night terrors, and he'll wake up next to me crying and screaming about some creepy man he saw when he was younger. It's probably from when his best friend died. I never really thought about it until tonight. I was sort of half watching when suddenly, Phil started doing all this weird shit. He started talking to himself, and he sat down in the chair and started shaving his own head. Then he had some kind of... seizure or something, because he started trying to beat himself up. I mean, everyone was so shocked, even security didn't think of acting until he bolted out of there.

It's been a bitch to find him; I mean, he could be anywhere. It's raining, he's probably still in his ring gear which means he's wet, freezing and scared, and it's killing me not knowing where he is.

I've been driving for fucking hours now. Rain's not letting up any, and I'm really, really scared I'm never going to find him. Most people have a special place they like to go to when the world's gone apeshit and you just want to be alone for a while. We don't get that – the road is our special place, since we're never in the same location for more than a few days. You get used to it after a while, but at the moment it's driving me nuts. I'm in a kind of dump at the moment. There's old tyres and those old blackened engines the local kids have probably tried to set fire to. Pretty much deserted, except for some old bum who's lying on a mattress.

That's another thing about touring. You don't see all that much of everyday life, and all its harsh realities. It's confronting. Like this guy; driving past, he doesn't seem that old at all. He looks older 'cos he's kind of bald. Actually he's quite young. Dressed kinda weird, too. Oh, shit.

***

Randy slammed the car door shut and bolted out, screaming the name of his lover above the pattering rain and sliding to a halt in the mud beside the mattress. Phil was half-conscious, barely aware of the strong arms that scooped him up off the sodden bedding and carried him to the safe warmth of the car. His hands fumbled at Randy's shirt, trying to pull himself closer to the source of heat, and Randy ran his hand over the strange tufts of hair that had replaced the once silken strands on his head.

_Phil, what have you done?_

"Phil, we're going to help you."

"We..." He mumbled, seemingly lacking the strength to make it a question.

"Well, me. I'm going to get you home, dry, and then we'll see a doctor and they'll be able to sort everything out-" Randy climbed into the back seat with Phil still in his lap, just trying to calm the smaller man's shivers.

"Everything is going to be okay."

"I killed him..."

"No, no you didn't. You didn't kill anyone."

"I'm scared..."

"There's nothing to be scared of. Nothing. I'm here, you're here – do you trust me?"

Phil nodded against his chest, sighing contentedly.

"That's the way."

***

My name is Philip Brooks, and when I was seven years old, I watched my best friend drown. Nearly thirty years later, I nearly drowned myself, but a man named Randy Orton risked himself in my crazy, turbulent state of mind, reached in and pulled me out.

I don't know what to think about this. I reckon Randy's too good for me, but they tell me I shouldn't think like that anymore. It's hard not to. All I know is, someone up there must be looking out for me.

**Wow, this has taken a while. In my defence, I couldn't figure out whether this last chapter should be told from Randy's POV or Phil's. I hope you enjoyed it, Areesha!**

**Today's updates on any given story will probably be the last in a while, since I want to concentrate on settling in at Uni. BECAUSE I KNOW NO ONE. WOO. Cheerio! **


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